


defective

by thir13enth



Series: shiro.exe [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Kuron-centric, angst all around, implied shallura
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 14:45:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14620905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thir13enth/pseuds/thir13enth
Summary: but who is he if he isn’t good enough to be shiro?





	defective

**Author's Note:**

> I think this drabble might have originally been written before Keith left for the Blade of Marmora and when Shiro first returned back a couple of seasons ago. Well. Here it is anyway.

He still doesn’t know why everything is so different than how he remembers it.

He remembers things were fun, lighthearted, comedic even as they were doing their best to save the universe. There were more laughs, more jokes, more smiles, and never any moments where he felt like he said the wrong thing. Lance was more punny, Pidge had more spunk, Keith would at least offer a rare smile, Hunk was much more generous, Coran was a tad goofier, and Allura…

Well, she was a lot more than whatever she is now.

He remembers she used to be much warmer. She used to spend more time with him — late nights asking him about Earth, extra rounds of sparring in the training arena, lingering moments after a couple drinks of glorsho — but now she just gives him a wave for the night and:

“Good night,” she tells him, as if it’s the least that she can offer him.

Tonight, he needs to know.

“What’s wrong with me?” he blurts.

Her eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

But then before he even answers her, she steps towards him and starts looking him from head to toe, as if she’s been waiting for a long time for him to ask that. “So something _did_ happen to you while you were out there after all, huh?”

“No,” he replies, backing away from her. “I…”

And he sees her hurt face when he moves away from her.

“Sorry.” He starts over. “I mean… I know I’m me, but I can tell by how everyone looks at me and talks to me that something isn’t right about me.” He looks up at her, voice softer and sounding a little hurt. “I can tell. I can see it your eyes.”

She opens her mouth and closes it, hesitating. “You don’t know what’s wrong?” she asks, when she finally speaks.

He shakes his head.

“You really don’t?” she asks again — and the way she asks him makes it sound like she wants an answer just as badly as he does. She peers closer at him, trying to meet his eyes.

“…I was hoping you could tell me.”

She watches him in disbelief.

“Really?” she asks again.

He’s answered this question already. So he doesn’t answer again.

“You… you’re not Shiro, are you?” she says, her voice tight.

Normally, this question would confuse him.

But when she asks this, suddenly everything makes sense. All the pieces of his puzzle come together. The quiet tension among his friends, his sudden forgetfulness about what Earth is like, all these simple joys in his life that doesn’t seem to exist anymore, this dreadful feeling that he’s dismissing something important about Allura that he can’t shake…

“No,” he replies.

It’s the only thing he’s certain of.

“Well, who _are_ you then?”

“I don’t know.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t know?” she asks him back, in disbelief. “What do you mean _you don’t know?_ ” Her voice starts to roughen around the edges. “You come here looking like Shiro while pretending to be Shiro and acting as Shiro and living as Shiro — and _you don’t even know who you are?_ ”

He has never seen Allura this angry before. She glares at him intensely. “I… I don’t know,” he admits again, backing up until his heel bumps into a wall. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”

He doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t know anything, really — not who he is, not who he’s supposed to be, not even _why_ he’s here instead of this damned Shiro person he’s impersonating.

“I can’t believe you,” she continues, through clenched teeth. “This is _your_ fault,” she presses, pointing at him. She steps toward him. “ _You’re_ the reason why Shiro isn’t here. _You’re_ the one that ruined _everything_.” Her hand reaches up to fist his collar. “You’ve done _all of this_ and _you don’t even know why you’re here?_ What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he repeats desperately, lifting his hands up to surrender. And he really is.

He can hear the pain in her words, cracking the ends of her sentences. He can feel her arm shaking like she’s trying to keep it together but can’t. He can see the red-rimmed glaze of her hard stare.

“I’m sorry I’m not the one you want,” he says.

Her jaw trembles. Her mouth quavers. She looks like she wants to say something, but she can’t get it out.

Finally she lets go of his collar, shoving him to the side. His back hits the wall behind him with a loud thump. He catches his breath after the ache of the impact subsides. She looks at him fiercely — just as much upset as furious.

“Why do you have to look so much like him?” she asks him in a harsh whisper.

“I’m—" but she raises her hand to shut him up.

“Don’t,” she interrupts. “Don’t say anything more with his voice.”

He swallows, falling silent.

“I don’t care who or _what_ you are,” she cautions. “But stop pretending you are him because you simply aren’t. You’ll _never_ replace him.”

He nods.

She watches him for a long moment. He can’t read her emotions, and she isn’t letting him either.

The empty pit in his stomach grows bigger when he realizes that she knows as little as he does. Asking her what was wrong with him wasn’t the right thing to do.

But if she doesn’t know, then who would? All he knows is that he isn’t who he is — but if he isn’t who he is, then who is he?

Nothing.

And she offers no other answers.

He looks back up at her, but she doesn’t let him catch her eyes. She turns around and heads back down the hall to her quarters, bidding him a curt farewell.

“Good night,” she tells him.

It’s the very least she can offer him.


End file.
